


Insomnia

by placentalmammal



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Kink Negotiation, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-05
Updated: 2015-10-05
Packaged: 2018-04-24 21:46:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4936474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/placentalmammal/pseuds/placentalmammal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cassandra’s blush crept from her face to her neck and chest; she resisted the urge to bury her face in her hands. “The things you <i>say</i>!”</p><p>Bull grinned at her, cocksure. “Tamassrans always told me I have a sweet mouth.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Insomnia

Skyhold never slept. Even in the small hours after midnight when the last of the servants had gone to bed, there were still sentries on the parapets and researchers in the libraries. Mice scurried across the larder floor; returning scouts beat a path to the Herald’s Rest; Cassandra Pentaghast walked the silent halls.

She walked barefoot, dressed in a calf-length nightshirt, arms wrapped about herself for warmth. Her patrols were meandering, irregular, intensely private. Even three months after the Inquisitor had closed the Breach and defeated the Elder One at Haven, doubt still gnawed at Cassandra. Once or twice a week, she woke in the middle of the night, anxiety gnawing on her bones. On these nights, sleep was impossible. Rather than lay in bed and brood, she rose silently and paced the halls in a futile bid to outpace her insomnia.

It had been over a year since the explosion at the Conclave and the foundation of the Inquisition. Cassandra still had the writ from the Most Holy in her chambers: a heavy stack of creamy white parchment with shining, illuminated text and wax seals big as saucers. In that time, the Inquisition had grown from a heretical splinter group into a renowned peacekeeping force, thanks in no small part to the Herald’s efforts. She still couldn’t bring herself to call the Inquisitor by name, not after the accusations she’d thrown and the sacrifices the Herald had made at Haven. She told herself that she hadn’t earned that privilege, regardless of the Inquisitor’s reassurances.

Cassandra shivered and wished she’d stopped to dress. Her muslin nightshirt did nothing to protect her from radiant chill of the stone fortress. Her skin had turned gooseflesh; her nipples had stiffened to peaks underneath her crossed arms. It was foolishness to be out of bed so late. If she crossed paths with one of Josephine’s dignitaries, the news that Lady Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast was wandering the halls at midnight in a nightdress would reach all corners of Thedas inside of a week. The kinder gossips would suggest that she’d taken a lover, the cruel ones would say she’d gone mad.

She stopped in a forked path and hugged herself more tightly. The right hall led to the guest quarters, the left to a staircase deeper into the bowels of the castle. She hesitated a moment and turned left, descending into the tomb-like darkness of Skyhold’s underbelly.

As she walked, the smooth marble tiles turned to rough limestone flagstones under her feet. This was the way to the armory, the war room, the barracks, the oubliette. These halls were darker, cobwebby, disused, the sconces empty and forlorn without torches. Most of the Inquisition’s forces camped in the river valley rather than risking their horses’ shoes on the mountain paths, so the rooms sat empty, gathering dust, _waiting._

Cassandra stopped suddenly, hand resting on the cold stone wall. Up ahead, a light. A torch guttered and flared in a sconce, the flame shuddering on an invisible current of cold air. In all her weeks of wandering, she had never seen a lit torch in the empty halls underneath the war room; she hadn’t realized that anyone but herself even knew the halls existed. She thought of her sword and armor in her room, polished and ready, and cursed herself for a fool. Hands clenched into fists at her sides, she advanced on the light, mentally reviewing the hand-to-hand drills of her earliest training days.

She turned a corner and found herself confronted with a dead end, a closed door, and a lit torch. More light seeped from the crack under the door, soft and golden--mundane fire, not magelight. Cassandra shifted her weight, dropping into a ready stance, and reached out, pressing her palm against the warped wood. A moment to steel herself, and she pushed the door open, springing forward in the same powerful movement.

The oak door banged against the stone wall, startlingly loud in the empty hallway. Cassandra let her momentum carry her through the doorway and into the small room, a scowl fixed on her face. “You should not be down here.”

“Could say the same, Seeker.” The Iron Bull lay across a carelessly made double-bed, papers spread across the rumpled sheets. He was nude from the waist up, no harness and no vitaar, and there was something harried in his expression, purple shadows underneath his eyes. He sat up, stretched, and surreptitiously gathered the papers into a neat pile.

“Oh!” said Cassandra. “I wasn’t expecting you. I didn’t realize that anyone else knew about these rooms.” She glanced at the papers; Bull shoved them underneath a pillow. “I am sorry for interrupting,” she said clumsily.

Bull stretched, rolling his shoulders. Cassandra kept her gaze on his face, studiously ignoring the movement of his muscles underneath his scarred flesh. “You’re not,” he said. “Been meaning to take a break for a while. Come on, sit down.” He moved to make room for her on the foot of the bed.

She crossed to the bed in two strides, letting the door close behind her. She sat down gingerly, back to the footboard and looked around the room. It was small, most of the floorspace taken up by the bed. There was a Dwarven-made brazier in one corner, throwing off heat and light. It was an antique piece, like something her uncle had during her childhood. “Where did that come from?”

“It was here,” Bull said, shrugging. “That and the bed. I thought Cole was living down here or something, but I watched it for a week and no one came or went. Thought I’d use it as an office.”

“Cullen could find you a proper office, if you wished,” she said, eyeing the room’s cobwebs with distaste. “One with a desk.”

His face split into a grin “Wouldn’t know what to do with a desk if I had one. Besides, I like this place. It’s private.”

There was no malice in his words, but Cassandra faltered, regardless. “I did not mean to intrude.”

Bull waved her apology away. “It’s fine, Seeker. Like I said, I needed a break, anyway. What time is it?”

“Late,” she said. “Past midnight.”

Bull swore and scrubbed at his remaining eye with a massive fist. “The boys’ll be wondering where I got off to.”

“You mother them too much,” she scolded. “I am sure they will be fine without you for one night.”

“Not Krem,” said Bull. “He pines.”

Cassandra laughed. “I do not think he would agree.”

Bull grunted and Cassandra busied herself smoothing the blanket. It was felted wool, coarse underneath her calloused fingertips. “What were you working on so late?” she asked, and Bull slumped back against the head, sighing. “You do not have to answer,” she said quickly.

“Letters from home,” he said, and sighed again. “Bad news.”

Cassandra’s head snapped up. “Does this concern he Inquisition?”

“No, no,” he said, hand uncurling in a placating gesture. “It’s--it’s not really bad news. It’s just.” He fell silent for a moment, searching for words. “I didn’t see this coming. It’s unexpected, is what it is.

“Oh,” she said. She bit her lip. “I should not have asked.” The blanket was beginning to pill; Cassandra frowned down at it, examining the wool fibers with greater scrutiny than they deserved.

“It’s alright,” he said, resignation in every syllable. “It’s Qunari bullshit. I was going to tell everyone tomorrow. Red already knows, if I had to guess.” He sat up straighter, the mattress dipped and shifted under his weight. “I just don’t want to think about it any more tonight.”

“I understand,” she said. “It is not easy to escape your thoughts.”

“Damn straight, Seeker,” he said tiredly.

For a moment, they sat in silence, preoccupied with their own thoughts. Cassandra pulled her knees up to her chest and realized with dismay that the hem of her nightshirt was unraveling. Bull scratched at his belly; She tried not to look at the trail of dark hair leading from his navel to the waistband of his trousers. After a moment, he said “And why are _you_ up so late, Seeker?”

Cassandra picked at the lint on the blanket. “I could not sleep.”

“I figured,” he said. He looked at her a moment, weighing his next words. “I didn’t have you figured for the nightgown type.”

She glared at him. “It is not a nightgown,” she said. “It is a nightshirt. There is no lace.”

“Is that the difference?” He looked her up and down, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Ilike it. It’s good to see you like this, with your hair down. Reminds me there’s a woman underneath that armor.”

Her face grew warm and she tugged at the fraying hem, trying to cover her legs. “Honestly, Bull,” she said, keenly aware of his bare chest. “The things you _say_. What if someone walked in and saw us like this?”

He shrugged and sat back, resting his arm on the headboard. “Like what?” he said, his innocent tone spoiled by his indecent grin. “We’re just talking.”

Cassandra shook her head, pointedly looking elsewhere. “It is late and we are unclothed and _Maker_ , this was your plan all along, wasn’t it?” She pressed her thighs together, ignoring the ache in her groin. “You meant to get me alone and _say_ things to me.” She couldn't stop herself talking, and the much-abused blanket tore under her fumbling hands. “You and your dirty mouth.”

“Cassandra.” She looked up at him, meeting his eye. He was leaning forward, his expression grave. “I didn’t mean to do anything. I’m not trying to pull anything, I swear. We’re just talking, that’s all I meant to do. You want me to get up and leave, I’m gone.”

“I did not tell you to _stop,_ ” she said. “I only want you to--” she pressed her lips together and took a deep, shuddering breath. “Maker, what am I saying?”

“What _are_ you saying, Seeker?”

She closed her eyes to steel herself. “I am uninterested in...a relationship,” she said, her tongue thick and heavy in her mouth. Words never came easily for her, but in that moment, she felt clumsy as a child learning to walk. She took a deep breath and let the next words come in a rush: “But I would very much like it if you kissed me.”

Bull raised an eyebrow and said nothing.

“You do not have to, of course,” she said quickly, face burning. Embarrassment crawled through her veins like a slow poison and she could not stop the flood of words pouring from her lips. “Forgive me and please forget I said anything, it was foolish to ask. I am tired and I am not thinking. I would take it as a kindness if you did not hold it against me.” She turned away and moved to stand, to flee the room, but Bull caught her wrist with surprising gentleness.

He held her hand like it was a precious thing, delicate and fragile as porcelain. He turned her hand over in his and pressed a kiss to the inside of her wrist, his lips dry and firm against her skin.

Cassandra was very still for a moment, unable to form words. Her skin tingled where he touched her, heat radiating outwards from his lips. Her heart was in her throat as arousal coursed through her body like crashing waves: her skin ached to be touched, her breasts were full and achingly tender, her nipples stiff peaks through the thin cloth of her nightshirt. Cassandra realized she was breathing as through winded, realized she was wet, her mound slick with arousal. She pressed her thighs together again,trying to stifle the throb in her cunt.

 _“_ Your stubble scratches,” she said finally.

Bull laughed and straightened slightly without releasing her wrist. “You’re one of a kind, Seeker Pentaghast.”

“Thank you,” she said. “I think.”

“Just take the compliment,” he said affectionately, running his thumb over her wrist, raising gooseflesh all along her arm. “So,” he said, inspecting a scar on the back of her wrist, a relic from a childhood accident.

“So?” she said.

 _“_ You said you wanted me to kiss you. What else do you want me to do?” He looked up at her from underneath dark, straight eyelashes and she squirmed, eager but unable to put words to the thoughts swirling in her head. She wanted him to tear her nightshirt away, wanted to feel his mouth on every part of her body. There was a word for what she wanted him to do, his mouth on her cunt, but she didn’t know the word in Trade. It had been easier with Gaylan, fewer words and more instinct. She respected Bull’s need for clarity, but his desire to define the terms made it no easier for her to express herself.

She pressed her lips together. “I want you to kiss me again,” she said slowly. “And to not stop. I want--I want your mouth on--on every part of me.” She was flushing again, color high in her cheeks.

Bull grinned at her. “You want me to lick your pussy?”

“I--” she shook her head. “Yes. I want you to--to lick me.”

“You want my cock?”

 _“_ Maker, _no!_ ” she said, more sharply than she’d meant to. His expression was unchanged, but she plunged on, stumbling over her apology for her bluntness. “I only meant that--”

 _“_ Don’t apologize.”

“You’re doing me a favor,” she said. “If I am unwilling to return--” Bull laughed, and she pulled her hand out of his hold, feeling cross despite her arousal. “It isn’t funny, Bull.”

“Seeker,” he said, voice smooth as silk, “Eating your cunt isn’t a favor, it’s a privilege.”

Cassandra’s blush crept from her face to her neck and chest; she resisted the urge to bury her face in her hands. “The things you __say_!”_

Bull grinned at her, cocksure. “Tamassrans always told me I have a sweet mouth.” Her stomach flipped, and he continued. “Before we do anything else, need a watch word. You need a break for any reason, you say ‘katoh,’ and we stop, no questions asked.”

“Katoh,” she said, testing the feel of the word on her lips. It was smooth and heavy in her mouth, a stone on her tongue. “Katoh.”

Bull nodded. “Exactly like that,” he said, sitting back on his haunches and grinning. “Now, you ready to start?”

“Maker, yes,” she said, and he closed the distance between them. His mouth landed on hers and his hands settled on her shoulders. He kissed her closed-mouth, perfectly respectable, and she clutched at him, her hands roving over his back. Her fingers found knots of muscle and bunches of puckered scar tissue, the topography of a hard-lived life. Bull relaxed under her hands, moaning against her jaw. Cassandra shivered, a little awed at his sensitivity.

He had her back to the footboard, but he was mindful of his bulk, careful not to trap her even as he worked at the collar of her nightshirt. She let go of his shoulders to help with the buttons and laughed when her tit popped out, brown against the white muslin. Her laughter turned to a gasp when he kissed her nipple, his soft, warm mouth enveloping the sensitive bud. She pressed forward, arching into his touch, scrabbling for a grip on his horns. His beard was prickly and uncomfortable as the blanket beneath her bare thighs, but the contrast--between his wet mouth and dry skin, between the cold air and his warm flesh, between his attentive lips and grasping, pinching hands--sent sparks skittering across her skin. “Bull,” she moaned, his name spilling from her lips like a prayer. “Bull, Bull, Bull.”

He grunted, and pulled away for a moment. Cassandra gasped at the sudden draft against her spit-slicked skin and pressed against him more urgently, greedy for his warmth. “Can I bite you?” he asked breathlessly. “ _ _Fuck._ _ I wanna mark you up.”

She leaned back and enjoyed the way Bull’s eye followed her movements, flicking from her heaving chest to her parted lips. Cassandra supposed that she should feel absurd, reclining like a queen with her nightshirt rucked up around her thighs, one breast out, a giant kneeling between her legs and asking for permission to leave love bites on her chest. She swallowed a sudden urge to laugh and reached out for Bull instead, running her fingers along his cheekbone. “One,” she said finally, unable to stop herself smiling. “And low enough for my clothing to cover it.”

Bull nodded and leaned in again, tracing the length of her collarbone with his mouth. Cassandra wrapped her arms around him and hauled him closer, humming in satisfaction when his hands found her hips and his mouth landed on her throat. She resumed her exploration of his back, hissing in pain when she felt his teeth on her skin. Bull kissed a bruise into her shoulder, just above her breast, leaving her skin purple and shiny with his saliva. Cassandra touched the bruise gingerly; it throbbed in response. She let her head fall back against the footboard and moaned, conscious of Bull’s eye on her. His arousal was apparent through his trousers, and the sight of it sent a fresh wave of heat rolling through her body. She didn’t want to fuck him, but it was flattering to be so plainly desired, so wanted.

He kissed her again and his hands ran down the length of her body, settling on the hem of her nightshirt. “May I?” he asked, and she could only nod. Bull teased her hem up over her thighs, baring more of her flesh, and Cassandra gasped when she felt a draft against her wet, aching sex. “Bull, please.”

He chuckled. “Patience, Seeker,” he said. His hand slid the length of her thigh, pausing at the junction of leg and hip. He sat back and admired her a moment, eye roving over her body: her spread legs, her labia swollen and pink with arousal, her pubic hair soaked with her juices. Cassandra bit her lip as Bull reached down and cupped her mound, sliding his middle finger along her seam to sample her arousal.

She cried out when he touched her, her fingernails biting into his meaty shoulders. Bull pushed the tip of his finger into her, and she jumped when he brushed her clit. “There it is,” he said, mouth millimeters from her ear. “Spread your legs a little wider for me,” he said, and she did so, hooking one foot over the edge of the bed. Bull kissed her again and moved his hand against her cunt, pressing his thumb against her pearl, drawing rough circles around the sensitive bud. Cassandra moaned, clutching at him for stability while her hips bucked against his hand. She ground her teeth and held out for as long as she could, but the gentle, persistent pressure of Bull’s thumb on her clit sent her over the edge. She buried her face in his neck to stifle her cry when she came against his hand, toes curling while her cunt clenched around nothing.

Bull kissed her through it, encouraging her gasps and moans, calling her beautiful when she knew she must be anything but. “Go on, Seeker,” he murmured. “Let it all out.”

Her limbs were jelly by the time it was through, her face fever-warm and shining with sweat. She pushed him away, still breathing hard, enjoying the unguarded reverence he reserved for her body. “Thank you, Bull,” she said. “I needed that.”

He chuckled and leaned in for another kiss. “I’m not done yet, Seeker,” he said. “I promised I’d eat you out.”

Strange that it was that, more than anything else, that made her squirm. “But you got me off,” she said, her eyes flicking to his erection, straining against his trousers. “Don’t you need to take care of yourself?”

“I made a promise,” he said, firmly. “And unless you’ve changed your mind, I’m going to lick your cunt.”

“Of course I haven’t,” she said, “but--”

Before she could argue further, Bull had flattened himself down on the bed in front of her, his head between her thighs. “Hook your legs over my horns,” he said, taking her hips in his massive hands. “Yeah, like that. Now hold on. Remember, ‘katoh’ if you need me to stop.”

Cassandra nodded, and Bull bent over her cunt, inhaling deeply. “You smell good,” he murmured, then closed his lips over her clit, drawing a strangled scream from her throat.

Bull lapped at her cunt, drinking in her juices like wine then coming back up to circle her bud with his tongue. Her inner muscles, already exhausted from her first orgasm, clenched and sucked weakly at his tongue while Cassandra clutched at his horns, halfway terrified that they’d break off in her hands. A bilingual litany of curses in Nevarran and Trade spilled from her lips, her voice breaking whenever he turned his attention to her swollen clit.

His horns kept her from wrapping her legs around his head, but if she braced her back against the footboard, she could grind against his mouth. Bull rewarded her ingenuity with another long suck on her clit. She threw her head back and cried out, half-mad with pleasure, hips bucking against his mouth of their own accord. She let go of his horns and pressed one hand to her mouth to stifle her cries, cupped her tit with the other, dragging her thumb across her nipple while Bull’s tongue delved into her folds.

Bull worked methodically, pushing her towards a second climax, even more powerful than the first. “Put a finger in me,” she gasped, squeezing her tit as another tremor wracked her body. “Bull, put a finger in me, I want something to come around.”

He leaned away for a moment, changing positions to free one hand. Cassandra wailed at the loss of contact, but the satisfaction of his forefinger sliding into her drove all else from her mind. She abruptly released her tit, hand clenching in empty air before she found his horns again, wrapping her fist around the rough keratin to steady herself while she rode out her second orgasm, cunt clenching greedily around his finger while percussive waves of pleasure rolled over her. She shuddered and cried out while his tongue fluttered against her pearl, drawing out the sensation for as long as possible.

When he finally pulled away, Cassandra was jelly-limbed and giggling, light-headed from coming so hard. “Kiss me, Bull,” she ordered lazily, and he obliged. Her eyes fluttered shut at the acid-sweet tang of her own juices on his lips and tongue.

When she pushed him away, he rolled over, propping himself up on his elbows. “How was that, Seeker?”

She closed her eyes for a moment, considered. “Satisfactory,” she said thickly, an evil grin spreading across her face.

“Satisfactory?” Bull said, affronted. “Come on. How long’s it been since you’ve had a man between your legs? I rocked your world.”

She patted him on the shoulder. “You were satisfactory,” she said fondly. “Goodness, I’ll be sore tomorrow. What did you do to me?”

“Oh, you get no sympathy from me,” Bull grumped. “Satisfactory. What even.”

“You’re ruining the moment,” she said, letting her eyes flutter shut. “Maker, I could fall asleep right here.”

“Round two, tomorrow morning?” he said hopefully.

 _S_ he snorted and sat up, smoothing her nightshirt over her thighs. “As if.” She looked at him again and her expression softened. “Some other time, perhaps. I meant what I said: I am uninterested in a relationship right now. But I wouldn’t object to doing...this, again.” She put her collar back in order, concealing her breast and the love bite. “If you were willing, of course,” she said shyly.

“Always,” he said.

She flushed again, turning her face to hide her smile. “Thank you.”

“I meant what I said.” It’s a privilege to eat you out.”

Cassandra laughed, then stood and stretched, her back popping audibly. _“Maker,_ but I will be sore tomorrow morning.”

“Occupational hazard,” Bull said. “Riding the Bull is a dangerous pastime.”

“Your sense of humor is appalling,” she said fondly, crossing the small room to the heavy oak door. She pushed it open, and the cold hallway air seeped into the room, twining around her ankles like a cat. She paused in the doorway, hand on the threshold. “Good night, Bull,” she said.

“Goodnight, Seeker.”

Cassandra stepped into the hall and let the door close behind her.


End file.
